


Super Psyched

by kittyhazelnut



Category: Psych, Supernatural
Genre: Crossover, SPN - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-12
Updated: 2019-08-12
Packaged: 2020-08-19 16:05:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,977
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20212492
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kittyhazelnut/pseuds/kittyhazelnut
Summary: Sam and Dean Winchester take a case in sunny Santa Barbara, California. It gets a little more complicated when a psychic detective shows up.





	Super Psyched

“So get this,” Sam Winchester says, getting his brother Dean's attention. “Man found dead inside some type of poisonous box. Kind of sounds like a Schrodinger's cat thing.”

“Sounds like a  _ what _ ?” 

“Schrodinger's cat,” Sam repeats. “You know, you put a cat in a box with something that could kill it, and you don't know whether it's dead or alive until you open the box. In a way, the cat's both dead and alive.”

Dean cocks his head to the side, confused. “What? That's stupid. The cat's obviously either alive or dead.”

“It’s a paradox,” Sam says. “It's just hypothetical.”

“So, basically the Walmart version of 'if a tree falls in the forest,’” Dean says. 

“Yeah, pretty much,” Sam agrees. “Anyway.” He turns his laptop so his brother can read it. “Check it out. Sound like our type of thing?”

Dean briefly scans the article. “Could be. Where is it, Santa Barbara? That's not too far. We might as well check it out.”

“All right, let's go.”

###

“I’m sorry, who are you?”

“I'm Agent Walsh,” Dean says, flashing his fake FBI badge at the Santa Barbara police chief. With a nod at his brother, he adds, “And that's Agent Greer.”

“Uh huh, and what are the feds doing here?” the police chief asks.

“Our job,” Dean deadpans. 

“We're here to investigate the death of Michael White,” Sam says. “Poison box seemed a  _ little _ out of the norm, you know?”

“Well, better the feds than…” she trails off. “Anyway, I'm Karen Vick, chief of police. Anything I can help with, just let me know.”

“Woah, what's this?” a man asks as he steps into the room — despite, judging by Chief Vick's dramatic sigh, not being welcome. “You're throwing a party, and you didn't invite us?  _ Et tu, Brute _ !”

“Mr. Spencer,” Chief Vick's says, exasperated, “if you don't mind —”

“No, I don't mind at all,” he says with a shrug. To Sam and Dean, he says, “My name is Shawn Spencer. And this…” He gestures to the door just as another man walks in, “is my partner, Lil Jub Jub.”

Dean raises an eyebrow. “Lil Jub Jub?”

“And you are —”

“FBI,” Dean interrupts. “I’m Agent Walsh, and that's Agent Greer.”

Shawn eyes them for a moment. “Right…”

“Thank you for these introductions, Mr. Spencer,” Chief Vick says, “but I think it's time for you to go.”

“Now, why would I do that?” Shawn asks. “Especially when there's a fun new case to solve! What is it this time? Murder? Suicide? Murder-suicide?”

“I'm sorry, who are you again?” Sam asks. 

“Shawn Spencer,” he says. “Head psychic at the SBPD.”

Sam and Dean share a look, and they know they're both thinking the same thing. A psychic just happens to be hanging around when this goes down? It has to be connected. They definitely have to keep an eye on him. 

“Mr. Spencer,” Chief Vick says, “I asked you to leave.”

“Yeah, good idea,” Shawn's partner says, trying to push him out of the room. 

“No, let him stay,” Sam says, earning an annoyed jab in the ribs from his brother. “I think he could help us out.”

Chief Vick raises an eyebrow. “Seriously?”

“Yeah, sure,” Sam says. “What can it hurt?”

###

“We’d already assigned two of our detectives to the White case before you showed up,” Chief Vick tells the Winchesters, gesturing to a man and a woman who seem to be the two detectives. 

“Carlton Lassiter,” one of them introduces themselves. “Head detective of the SBPD.” With a nod at his partner, he adds, “That's my partner, Juliet O'Hara.”

“Agents Greer and Walsh, FBI,” Sam says as both Winchesters flash their badges.

With a flirtatious smile to Juliet, Dean adds, “It's a pleasure to be working with you.”

“I'm sorry,” Lassiter says, looking at the chief incredulously, “you're expecting me to work with  _ those two  _ on this?”

At first, it sounds like a complaint that the so-called FBI are here, but it's apparently directed at the other two, because Shawn says, “Think of the headlines, Lassie! ‘Unsolvable Case Solved by Psychic Detective and his Sidekick—’”

“Yeah, okay, that's enough,” Lassiter says. “It's not an unsolvable case. In fact, O'Hara and I could solve it on our own with no problem. We don't need you —”

“But you're working with them anyway,” Chief Vick interrupts, “or you will drop the case completely. Have I made myself clear?”

Lassiter looks down at the floor. “Yes, Chief.”

“You know,” Sam says, “I think we could do without you, detectives, but —”

“Don't listen to him,” Dean interrupts. “The more, the merrier, right, Detective O'Hara?”

Sam rolls his eyes. God, the guy is shameless. 

###

“So,” the coroner, Woody, begins, “it looks like what killed him wasn't suffocation like we first thought.”

“Well, if he didn't suffocate, what happened?” Lassiter asks. 

“It looks like some type of poison,” Woody says. “Don't know what type, though.”

“What did he look like when you found him?” Sam asks

“Covered in his own vomit, for one,” Lassiter says. 

“Runny nose, watery eyes?” Sam asks. 

Juliet cocks get head to the side. “Yeah, actually, how did you —?”

“Nerve agent,” Sam says. “Messes with your nervous system. You basically keep doing what you'd normally do, but more. Instead of, say, keeping your eyes a little wet, they'd start watering uncontrollably.”

Dean stares at him. “Dude, how do you know that?”

Sam shrugs. “I watch the news.”

“Well, that makes my job easier,” Woody says. “Well, there you have it. Guy died of nerve poisoning inside a giant box.”

“What do we know about the victim?” Dean asks. “You know, before the whole box thing.”

“Not much,” Lassiter says. “He was a teacher at the local high school. On leave for accusations of sexual misconduct, but they don't seem to be holding up. Has a wife, two kids, no a criminal record.” 

“Huh,” Sam says. “Think we could talk to the wife?”

###

“Why don't you have a car like that?” Shawn asks, eyeing the Winchesters’ 1967 Chevy Impala enviously. 

“Excuse you, Shawn,” his partner, whose name is not, in fact, Lil Jub Jub, says, “the Blueberry is  _ much _ more sophisticated than that pile of metal. I bet it doesn't even have electric windows.”

“If the only thing your car has going for it is its windows, you need a new car,” Shawn says. “Look at them! The suits, the fancy black car, the synchronized door-closing. They're like  _ Men In Black, _ and we're freaking  _ Care Bears _ .”

“You know what? If you want a different car, you can buy your own,” Gus says. “I'm keeping my Blueberry, so suck it.”

“No, you suck it,” Shawn says. 

“No, you suck it.”

“No, you suck it.”

In unison, they both sing, “Suck it!”

###

“What the hell, Sam?” Dean hisses. “You're letting the so-called psychic work with us? You realize he probably killed the guy, right?”

Sam scoffs. “You just met him! You can't accuse people you just met of being murders!”

“Oh, come on.” Dean rolls his eyes. “A psychic just  _ happens _ to be hanging around during a murder? There's no way that's a coincidence.”

“Well, we can't exactly kill him just because he's running around claiming he's psychic,” Sam says. “It doesn't have to be a coincidence. Maybe he's trying to solve the case, too. Could be a hunter.”

“A  _ psychic _ hunter?” Dean says skeptically. 

“Yeah, why not?” Sam asks. “I mean, Missouri Mosley's a psychic, and she helped us out once. She got Dad into hunting and everything. Or maybe he's one of the demon blood kids. I mean, if it didn't ruin me, maybe he's the same way.”

“I thought all the demon blood kids were gone,” Dean says. 

“I'm not,” Sam reminds him. 

“And, what, you think Lil Jub Jub over there sold his soul for the guy?” Dean says skeptically. “I’m pretty sure if he saw a demon, he'd run away screaming. Besides, didn't you say you don't get visions anymore? Why would he still have his powers?”

“Look, I don't know, okay?” Sam says. “Just, give him the benefit of the doubt. You don't have to trust him. Just don't shoot him yet.”

“Fine, but I still don't like him.”

“You don't have to like him,” Sam says. “We'll just keep an eye on him."

###

“Okay, I have to admit, this is a new one for me,” Shawn says. Poisonous boxes are definitely not his forte.

“I'm telling you, Shawn,” Gus says, “you should really leave this one with the feds.”

“Why would I do that?”

“Oh, I don't know,” Gus says sarcastically. “Maybe because you're lying to the FBI? They're going to figure it out, Shawn, and when they do, I'm staying out of it. Have fun in prison.”

“Gus, don't be that one apple that really did fall far from the tree,” Shawn says. “If Lassiter hasn't proved I'm not really psychic yet, neither will they. Besides, they're not even the real FBI.”

“What?”

“Steve Walsh and Billy Greer,” Shawn explains. “Lead singer and bassist from Kansas.”

“So? Maybe they just have the same names.”

“Right, okay, and the FBI would work with a psychic detective because…?”

“Admit it,” Gus says. “You just don't like them because they beat you to the punch. Just because they upstaged you doesn't mean they're liars.”

“Of course they are!” Shawn insists. “Come on, who's more qualified to figure out if someone's lying to the police than the guy who's lied to the police about being psychic for years?”

“Right, and if they're not feds, why are they here, huh?”

“I don't know, maybe  _ they _ killed the guy,” Shawn says. “It would explain how they knew about the nerve whatevers.”

“Nerve  _ agent _ , and if I had a little more to go on, I would've thought of it, too,” Gus says. “Face it, Shawn. You're just mad that you got upstaged by some randos in cool suits.”

Shawn glares at him. “I'm going to solve this case, prove they're not feds, and figure out why that Greer guy looks familiar, and you're going to eat your words.”

###

“Hi,” Sam greets the woman at the victim's door. Though it's easy to assume she's his wife just judging by her red, puffy eyes, he still asks, “Are you Amanda White?”

She nods. “Are you —” She sniffles and clears her throat. “Are you friends of Michael's?”

Both Winchesters and the two real detectives pull out their badges in unison. 

“I'm Agent Greer,” Dean says, then introduces the others with a brief nod, “that's Agent Walsh, Detectives O'Hara —” He gives her a wink. “Lassiter, Spencer, and…” He trails off, knowing that they'd probably get a door slammed in their face if he called the man “Lil Jub Jub.”

Fortunately, he steps in with, “Burton Guster.”

“Oh.” She sighs. “You're here to ask about Michael?”

“If that's okay with you,” Sam says. 

She glances in the house, then steps outside and shuts the door. “Alright, just, my kids are inside, and I don't want to leave them alone for long. I've been trying to cheer them up with candy, but…” 

“We'll only take a moment,” Sam assures her. 

“Have you noticed anything weird lately?” Sam asks. 

“What?”

“You know, strange,” Dean says. “Maybe cold spots? Smell any sulfur?”

Shawn scoffs. “What, looking for a ghost or something?”

Dean shoots him a glare, but Sam answers with a calm, “It's just procedure.”

“Not like any procedure I've ever seen,” Lassiter says. 

“Well, this isn't exactly like any other  _ case _ you've ever seen, either, is it?” Dean asks.

“Uh…” Amanda White looks between them, then says, “I don't  _ think _ I've seen anything weird?”

“Is there anyone you think would have wanted to hurt your husband?” Lassiter asks. 

“No, no one,” she says. “Everyone loved Michael. I mean, after the allegations against him, people weren't happy, but they weren't real. They couldn't have been. I can't believe…”

“Do you mind if we take a look inside?” Dean asks. 

“I'd rather you didn't,” she says. “I don't want to bother the kids.”

“It'll just take a second,” Sam insists. 

“And a second is long enough to bother my kids,” she says. “I’m sorry, but I don't want you in my house. Is there anything else I can help you with?”

Everyone agrees that there's nothing left for them to do. If they can't get inside the house, they can't look for anything. 

“Hey, Sam.” Dean nudges his brother, discreetly hanging him the EMF detector. “Want to take a walk around the house?”

“You think it could sense EMF from out here?” Sam asks. “It would have to be a pretty powerful ghost.”

“Can't hurt to try,” Dean says with a shrug. “Not like we can break in and look for sulfur or hex bags — not while they're home, at least, and definitely not with the cops breathing down our necks — nice call, by the way. Really helps, having psychic guy right behind us.”

Sam rolls his eyes. “Look, I'll check the house for EMF, and then we can go regroup, alone.”

###

“I told you they're not real feds!” Shawn hisses. 

“How did any of what just happened prove that they're not real feds?” Gus asks. 

“‘Did you see anything weird?’” Shawn mimics in an exaggerated low voice. “‘Cold spots? Sulfur? A portal to another dimension?’”

“So they've got a weird way of doing things,” Gus says. “So do you. What's your point?”

“Yeah, and  _ I'm lying _ ! That's my whole thing! And they are, too!”

“Yeah, all right, Shawn,” Gus says sarcastically. “I'm sure you're right.”

Shawn glances over at them, just as Sam is walking away. “I'll be right back.”

“Shawn, don't — Shawn!”

Shawn ignores him, walking over to Dean, who's leaning against his car as he waits.

“Nice wheels,” Shawn says. 

“Thanks,” Dean says cautiously. 

“I'm surprised this thing still runs,” Shawn says. “How old is it?”

“Built in ‘67,” Dean says. “She's broken down a few times, but I always get her up and running.”

Shawn nods slowly. “Right…” He looks between Dean and the car a few times. Suddenly, he puts his fingers to his head, his traditional sign that he's having a “vision.” “I'm sensing this car is important to you.”

Dean shrugs. “Yeah, I mean, kind of need a car to get most places these days.”

“No, no, I'm sensing it's more than that,” Shawn says. “Does it — it runs in the family, doesn't it? Had it for a long time? Your parents’, too, maybe?”

Dean raises an eyebrow. “You really are psychic, huh?”

Of course, had he been talking to Gus, he would have said no, it's just because Dean cares enough about the thing to keep it around so long, he practically rebuilt the thing — some of its parts look a lot newer, though it doesn't stand out. Most people wouldn't go through all that trouble unless it meant something to them, and a car as old as that, it stands to reason he inherited it from someone. 

But, because he's not talking to Gus, he just says, “Wow, it usually takes more than that to convince people.”

“My car’s not exactly wearing my dad's name tag, so yeah, I buy it,” Dean says. 

“So, what are the feds doing working with a psychic detective?” Shawn asks.

“Well, the detective part kinda sticks out,” Dean says. “It's a weird case. We could use all the help we can get.”

Shawn eyes him for a moment, then asks, “Hey, have we met before?”

“I don't think so,” Dean says. “I don't remember ever dealing with a psychic detective before.”

“Are you sure?” Shawn asks. “You look familiar.”

Dean shrugs. “Beats me.” 

Sam takes that moment to return, telling Dean all he needs to know with the shake of his head. 

“Alright, we're out of here,” Dean says. 

“Ooh, where to?” Shawn asks. “His school? The station?”

“Just going to regroup,” Dean says. “If you find anything while we're gone.” He hands him a card with his phone number on it. “Give us a call.”

“Hey, Greer, Walsh.” Lassiter waves them over, Shawn and Gus following them out of curiosity. 

“What is it?” Sam asks. 

“There's been another victim.”

###

“An  _ apple tree _ is growing in his  _ stomach _ ?” Dean stares at the corpse in front of them incredulously. 

“Apparently,” Woody says. “I wonder if the apples are going to be edible. You think we could keep him around until they grow?”

“Woody, you can't eat the dead man's apples!” Shawn says. “They're basically the murder weapon!”

“Oh, yeah, that's fair,” Woody agrees. 

“Is anyone at all concerned about the fact that there's an apple tree growing in this man's stomach?” Juliet asks. “How is that even possible?”

“I guess my mom was right when she said not to eat the apple seeds, huh?” Shawn jokes. 

“What do we know about the victim?” Dean asks. 

“Just that he's a senior at the local high school,” Juliet says. “Not a popular guy, but I don't think anyone would have planted a tree in him.”

“The same high school Mr. Green worked at?” Sam asks. 

Lassiter nods. “That’s the one.”

“Guess we should head there next,” Dean says. “See if there's anyone who might have had it out for them both.”

“What, are you thinking this was murder?” Lassiter asks. “You think someone planted an apple tree inside his stomach, and he just went on with his life until it killed him?”

“I don't know  _ what _ I think,” Dean says. “But I have a hard time believing an apple tree just happened to appear in someone's stomach just a few days after someone died in a poison box.”

“It's probably just a coincidence, though,” Sam says. “I mean, there's no  _ normal _ way to kill someone via ingrown apples.” Sam looks pointedly at Dean when he says “normal.” There's nothing the police could do about whatever this was. They shouldn't encourage them to check out a new lead. “It's probably nothing. You should work the box case, and we'll just check this one out on our own, just to make sure it's nothing.” 

“Woah, woah, wait.” Shawn puts his fingers to his head. “The spirits are telling me that this  _ is _ connected, and we need to check it out.”

“All right, so my partner and I can do that,” Sam says, “and you —”

“No, no, the spirits are specifically saying that Gus and I should check it out ourselves,” Shawn says. 

“Well, pleasing the spirits isn't exactly on my to-do list today,” Dean says. “Go with them. If there's something there, we'll be in touch.”

###

“This is stupid,” Shawn mutters. “I would be way more helpful with the FBI guys than crammed in the Blueberry, chasing a dead lead.”

“I thought you said they weren't FBI,” Gus reminds him. “Finally realized your jealousy is showing?”

“They're definitely not real feds,” Shawn says. “But that's all I've got on anything. That, and the wife that wouldn't let us in the house. It's gotta be one of them.”

“And how does the apple tree play into this?” Gus asks. 

“I have no idea.”

Gus scoffs. “Great. I really think we should just leave this one with the FBI. You're just going to embarrass yourself — even more than usual.”

“No,  _ you're _ going to embarrass yourself when I crack this case wide open,” Shawn says. “And when the FBI guys get arrested for whatever it is they're doing and I get to drive their awesome car back to the station, I'm not going to let you ride with me.”

“I can't wait until the FBI guys solve the case themselves and leave you looking like an idiot.”

###

“So, apple tree in the stomach,” Dean says, glancing at his brother sitting shotgun in the impala. “What do you think about that one?”

“I think Shawn might have a point,” Sam says. “It's a classic wives tale. ‘Don't eat the seeds or a tree'll grow inside you.’”

“Yeah, but it's just a myth,” Dean says. “That can't actually happen.”

“Well, apparently it can,” Sam says. “We just have to figure out how.”

“And how do you plan on doing that?” Dean asks. “We've got nothing to go on.”

“Then we find something to go on,” Sam says. “We still haven't seen the first victim's house.”

“Yeah, because the wife wouldn't let us in,” Dean says. 

“Then we wait ‘till she's gone, and check it out then,” Sam says. They're definitely not above a little breaking and entering.

“How do you know she's leaving at all any time soon?” Dean asks. “Her husband just  _ died _ . She's probably not in the mood for a social call.”

“Well, we have to try something,” Sam says. 

“Yeah, something other than sitting outside this woman's house all day,” Dean says. 

“Do you have a better idea?” Sam asks. 

Dean thinks for a moment, then sighs. “Fine, but if we're still there tonight, you're taking the first shift and I'm going to sleep.”

###

“I’m Shawn Spencer, psychic detective for the SBPD.” Shawn gestures to Gus. “This is my partner, Scooby Don't.”

“A psychic, huh?” Michael White's substitute, Clarence Travers repeats. “Can you tell me what I'm thinking right now?”

Shawn shakes his head. “No, it doesn't work that way.”

“Come on, try it,” Travers insists. 

Shawn looks around the room. Most of this stuff was probably left by Michael White, so that's no help. The only thing he can safely assume isn't from the former teacher is the candy wrappers filling up the trash. A quick glance at the chocolate bars piled up on his desk, and it looks like he needs to lay off the sweets. 

Shawn puts his hands to his head and looks at Travers intently. “I'm getting a sugary vibe from you. Soda? No, it's more like… marshmallows? No, but that seems closer. It's…” He perks up, exaggerating it for effect. “Candy. You're thinking of candy.”

Travers scoffs. “Well, slap my ass and call me Shirley.”

“That's a little intense,” Shawn says. “How about, like, a high five?” He puts his hand up, and, when Travers just stands there looking amused, Shawn takes his arm and hits their hands together. “Just like that. Much better.”

Travers chuckles. “Well, what can I do ya for?”

“We're here to talk about Mr. White,” Shawn says. 

“Well, not sure what you want from me,” Travers says. “I never met the guy. I just took over his classroom.”

“Right, right, but you still have the same students, right?” Shawn asks. “So can we hang around and talk to them?”

Travers shrugs. “Don't know what you're expecting them to say, but sure. Next class starts in a few minutes. Feel free to hang around.”

###

“Well, that was fifty shades of useless,” Shawn says, climbing into the Blueberry after spending far too long at the school. “Literally  _ everyone _ hated him. How are we supposed to narrow  _ that _ down?”

“I'm telling you, Shawn, you should really leave this with the FBI,” Gus says. 

“Gus, don't be the 1998 remake of  _ Psycho _ ,” Shawn says. “If I can't figure this out, no one can. You know that.”

“Shawn, just because Lassiter has a habit of jumping the gun does not mean you are the best detective in the world,” Gus says. 

“No, the fact that I'm the best detective in the world makes me the best detective in the world.”

“No, Shawn, you're not,” Gus says. “In fact, I bet if we asked your dad, he'd —”

“No,” Shawn says immediately. “No, I am not going begging to my dad for help. I'll figure it out without him. I just need to think.”

“Yeah, how's that been work out for you?” Gus asks. 

“Oh, shut up.”

###

“Gus, where are we going?” Shawn asks. “This isn't the way to the office  _ or _ the police station.”

All Gus says is a cryptic, “I know.”

“Gus?” Shawn nudges at his shoulder. “Gus, what are you doing?” 

“You'll see.”

“Gus?” Shawn taps his shoulder rapidly. “Gus?” When he doesn't get an answer, he sighs and sinks into his seat. 

It only occurs him a couple minutes later, and he bolts upright. “No.”

Gus just smirks and continues driving like nothing happened. 

“Gus, turn the car around right now,” Shawn says. “I told you, I am not crawling to my dad for help.”

“Either drop the case, or we're going to your dad,” Gus said. “It's not getting solved if you don't.”

“Gus, I will jump out of this car right now.”

“Go for it.”

Shawn glares at him. He thinks for a moment, then points out the window. “Woah, a Harry Potter cosplay thing!”

“What?”

Shawn grabs the wheel and pulls it to the side. Gus immediately yanks it back, pulling them back on track. Shawn pulls it again, and Gus elbows him in the shoulder. 

“Ow!” Shawn grabs his arm protectively.

“Nobody messes with my car but me.”

###

Henry Spencer is in the middle of packing his truck up when Shawn and Gus pull up. Just as Shawn expected, his father sighs dramatically, crossing his arms. 

“Look, he's getting ready to go fishing,” Shawn says. “We shouldn't bother him now.”

“Let's go, Shawn,”

Shawn groans and reluctantly climbs out of the car, walking up to his father with his friend just a few steps behind him. 

“Hi, Dad,” Shawn deadpans. 

“Well, don't sound too excited,” Henry says sarcastically. 

“Can I ask you a question?” 

Henry nods. “I figured that's why you were here. Just make it quick. I'm supposed to head up to the lake in a few minutes.”

Shawn pauses, thinking of how to word this. “Have you ever had a case that just seemed impossible?”

“Nothing is impossible, Shawn,” Henry says. “If it looks like it is, you're just missing something.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know,” Shawn says. “But I mean, like,  _ really _ impossible. Like, ‘how did this even happen?’ impossible.”

Henry leans against the back of his truck, an eyebrow raised. “What's the case?”

So Shawn explains it all. The poison box, the probably-fake FBI agents, the lady who wouldn't let them in the house, the apple tree growing in the stomach; all of it. 

“So?” Shawn says when he's finished. “Any ideas?”

Henry shakes his head, exasperated. “Shawn, I don't have time for your games. Why are you really here?”

“What? No, I'm serious!” Shawn says. “Gus, tell him!”

Gus nods. “He's serious.”

“I was willing to overlook the box,” Henry says. “I was. But this?” Henry shakes his head. “An apple tree can't grow inside someone's stomach. It's impossible.”

“Exactly!” Shawn throws his hands in the air. “That's exactly what I've been saying! It can't happen. But it did.”

“And you're serious about this?” Henry asks skeptically. 

“Would I have come if I wasn't?”

Henry eyes him for a second, then sighs. “Let's go inside, and you can tell me what you know so far.”

###

“I’m a little hung up on the FBI part,” Henry says. “You don't think they're really feds?”

Shawn shakes his head. “I know they're not.”

“And you're sure they don't look familiar because you've seen them as feds before?”

“No, they're not real feds!” Shawn says. “God, why doesn't anyone believe me?”

“Did I say I don't believe you?” 

“You don't have to say it,” Shawn says. “I know you don't.”

“Okay, no, I don't,” Henry admits. “But let's pretend for a second that I did. Why would anyone pretend to be feds?”

“I don't know, they like working for free?” 

“Shawn, if you're not going to take this seriously —”

“I'm taking this seriously!” Shawn says. “I don't know why they'd pretend to be FBI! I can't exactly go up and ask them!”

“Think about it,” Henry says. “Why would you try and infiltrate an investigation?”

“I usually do it out of boredom,” Shawn says. 

Henry rolls his eyes. “Okay, why would anyone but you infiltrate an investigation?”

Shawn shrugs. “I don't know. To cover something up?”

“Exactly!” Henry hits the arm of his chair to emphasize it. “If you're sure they're not really with the FBI, odds are, they're probably the bad guys.”

“Isn't that the logic that almost got Shawn locked up?” Gus asks. “Shawn wouldn't even  _ be _ a fake psychic if Lassiter didn't pull that on him.”

“Quiet, Gus, the adults are talking,” Shawn says. 

“No, no, he has a point,” Henry says. “But that's why you're not going after them unless you have proof — actual, legitimate proof. And if you do, you're telling Chief Vick, and she's taking care of it.”

“Right, fine, whatever,” Shawn says, with no intention of actually following through with that. “But I still don't get what they have to do with the apple tree.”

“I don't know.”

Shawn scoffs. “You — you don't know? You don't —” Shawn looks at Gus triumphantly. “He doesn't know! I told you! I told you that if I couldn't solve it, no one could!”

“Good for you, Shawn,” Gus says. “But the case still isn't solved. Probably not the best time to celebrate.”

Shawn frowns. “Oh, right.”

“Well, good luck with it,” Henry says. “Now, if you're done bragging, I have a fishing trip to go on.” As they're leaving, Henry adds, “Oh, and Shawn?”

Shawn glances over his shoulder. “Hmm?”

“If you're not completely, 100 percent sure that they're not really with the FBI, I think you should leave this one with them. It's usually best to trust the feds.”

###

“You hear that, Shawn?” Gus says when they're in the car. “He said leave it with the feds.”

“No, he said leave it with the feds  _ if _ I wasn't sure they weren't really the feds,” Shawn says. “And they're not. Ergo, this is still our case.” He pulls a chocolate bar out of his pocket. “Victory chocolate.” He tries to open it, but it starts to fold instead of opening. “Dammit, my chocolate melted!”

“Shawn,” Gus says slowly, “where did you get that?”

“Nowhere,” Shawn says immediately. 

“Shawn…”

Shawn sighs. “Fine! I took it off the teacher's desk!”

“Shawn, you can't just take people's chocolate!”

“I couldn't help it!” Shawn says. “It was right there! I had to!”

Gus sighs. “Right. Okay, well, where do we go next?”

“Back to White's house,” Shawn says. 

“What? Why? She's not going to let us in.”

“No, we're going to let ourselves in,” Shawn says. “Her kids are getting their flu shot in about…” Shawn looks at the clock in Gus’ car. “An hour, give or take.”

“How do you know?” Gus asks. 

“I saw her calendar from the doorway,” Shawn says. “Now let's go. I want to see her leave so I know we have time.”

“Shawn, we're not breaking into some innocent lady's house.”

“And what if she's not innocent?” Shawn asks. 

“I thought you decided the feds did it,” Gus says. 

“Or the wife,” Shawn says. “Or maybe both. I'm not sure yet. But it was definitely one of the two, and this might be our only chance at checking the wife out, so let's go!”

“Fine,” Gus says reluctantly. “But if anything goes wrong, I'm leaving and you're taking the heat for both of us.”

###

“Look, they're leaving,” Sam says. “Let's — Dean?” 

Dean is slouched down in the driver's seat, head against the window with his eyes closed. 

Sam sighs. Of course he's not awake. He reaches for the flashlight in the back seat and hits Dean on the head with it. 

“What—” Dean immediately sits up and reaches into the window, probably to get his gun like he could do if he were sleeping at a motel. When he processes where he is, he groans, putting his hand on his head. “Dude!”

“Don't fall asleep on a stakeout and I won't have to hit you,” Sam says. “Come on, they just left. I don't know how long we have.”

They hurry over to the door, and Sam stands guard as Dean picks the lock. They don't usually have to do this in broad daylight, but Dean finishes quickly enough, and they quickly head inside before the neighbors notice them.

Dean glances over at his brother. “Anything?”

Sam shakes his head. “Not yet.” 

They walk around the house in silence, and Sam keeps an eye on the EMF detector. They're just about the clear out, assuming the house is fine, when they hear a rustling down the hallway. 

Dean instantly pulls out his gun, and they slowly walk down the hallway, listening for another sound. As they get closer, they can hear hushed voices, and they narrow it down to one door. Dean reaches for the door handle, and, after a pause, slams the door open, pointing his gun inside. 

“Oh, crap,” Shawn mutters, dropping the papers he was looking through and looking up at them. “Hi, guys! We, um, we weren't doing anything. At all. Nope.”

Sam gapes at them. “Shawn? Gus? What are you doing here?”

“Hopefully not getting shot,” Gus says, eyeing Dean's gun. “You wanna, like, put that down?”

“Nope.”

Gus swallows hard.

“Dean, you can put the gun down,” Sam says quietly. 

“No, I think this is just enough proof that these are our guys,” Dean says. 

“Funny, that exactly what I was thinking about you,” Shawn says. To Gus, he adds, “I told you.”

“Maybe save your ‘I told you so’ for later, when there isn't a gun pointed at us?”

“Oh, yeah, that's fair,” Shawn agrees. 

“Dean, put the gun down,” Sam hisses.

Dean rolls his eyes. “Fine.” 

Sam waits until Dean puts the gun away, then asks the other two, “What are you doing here?”

“Us?” Shawn scoffs. “You're the ones shoving a gun in our faces! What are  _ you _ doing here?”

“Our job,” Dean deadpans. 

“Wait!” Shawn puts his hands to his head. “I'm sensing that you're not cops or feds or whatever. You're…” Shawn points at Dean with one hand, his other still doing his signature psychic move by his head. “You're a criminal. Bank robbery, right? Murder, too. And…” Dammit, Shawn, think! What else did he do? There's definitely more. “And... grave decretion?”

“Desecration,” Gus whispers. 

Shawn waves a hand dismissively. “I've heard it both ways.” 

“So?” Dean asks his brother. “Is that proof enough? Can I shoot him now?”

“What?” Shawn gapes at him. “I just proved I'm psychic! That always works!”

“Dean, just because he's psychic doesn't mean he's our guy,” Sam says. 

“Oh, I think we're pretty damn sure,” Dean says. 

“Okay, scenario,” Shawn says cautiously. “How about we all calm down,  _ don't shoot anybody _ , and just talk it out?”

“But maybe outside, and not trespassing on someone's private property,” Gus adds, and Shawn nods. 

“Yeah, that's probably a good idea,” Sam says. 

“But if you try to run, I  _ will _ shoot you,” Dean says. 

“And he won't miss,” Sam adds, not that he really wants them to get shot, but because he knows they have to talk before either Shawn and Gus turn them in for impersonating officers, or, more likely, Dean just shoots them. Threatening people is usually the easiest way to get them to listen. “How did you guys get in here, anyway?” 

“Side window,” Shawn says. “You?”

“Front door,” Sam replies. 

“And what's that?” Shawn points at the EMF meter.

“Oh, that's nothing.” Sam puts it in his pocket. 

“You know,” Shawn says, “I think you're one out the nicest people that's ever threatened to shoot me.”

“Thanks?” Sam says uncertainly. 

“In the car,” Dean snaps. 

Shawn gasps. “Gus, we get to ride in the car!”

“Really, Shawn,  _ that's _ your first thought?” 

Dean opens the back door, and Shawn immediately steps in the car, looking around. Gus does the same, but much less excited about it. Dean slams the door shut, and the Winchesters sit in the front seats. 

“Dude, I love this car!” Shawn says. 

“Guys, what are you doing here?” Sam asks. 

“That's a very long story that I can't really explain right now,” Shawn says. 

“Well, you better find the time for the SparkNotes version,” Dean says, already reaching for his gun.

“Woah, okay, okay,” Shawn says quickly. “We were…” He looks to Gus for help, but Gus just shrugs. “Okay, so we were trying to solve the case, right? And the spirits told me that I had to come here, and they'd show me more when I got here, so Gus and I, we broke in, yes, but it's to avenge the woman's husband, so really, that can't be a bad thing, right?” As an afterthought, he quickly adds, “But, you know, if you want us to drop the case, I'll just tell the spirits to shut up and we don't mention you to anyone.”

“Sam, how much more of this do you have to hear?” Dean asks. “He's psychic. He killed them. We kill him. End of story.”

“What?” both Shawn and Gus yell in unison. 

“You can't just kill me!” Shawn says. 

“He's not even a real psychic!” Gus adds. “He's just faking it to stay out of jail!”

“Gus!” Shawn slaps him on the shoulder. 

“Right, sure,” Dean says sarcastically. “And he just happened to know about my car? It doesn't exactly have my dad's name on it.”

“It might as well,” Shawn says. “It's old, and you've clearly rebuilt it from the ground up. No one would go through that much trouble for a car without automatic windows or a CD drive unless it meant something to them. I figured you must have gotten it a while ago, because they don't exactly sell this type of thing anymore, and definitely not to people in twenty dollar suits, so it must have been given to you by someone. I just kinda guessed it was a parent. Is that enough to not get me shot?’

Sam and Dean share a look. That actually makes sense. But there's no way he could have figured that out on the spot. 

“And what about the bank robbery?” Sam asks. 

“Wow, I never thought I'd have to prove I'm  _ not _ psychic,” Shawn remarks. “Lassie has a wall of criminals he wants to find in his apartment. Dean's picture is up there. It clocked when I saw him with the gun in our faces. The whole dangerous vibe or something. Plus, you named yourselves after band members. Probably not your best idea.”

“Fair point,” Dean says. 

“So if you're not psychic, why are you pretending you are?” Sam asks. 

“It’s a long story,” Shawn says. “But it's quite literally the only thing keeping me out of jail right now, so don't tell anyone, okay?”

Sam sighs. “Fine. But it looks like we're back to square one now.”

“It's not Shawn and the house is clean,” Dean says. “That's not even square one. That's square zero.”

“So, what do we do now?” Shawn asks. 

“ _ We _ don't do anything,” Dean says. “You and Gus are going to go home and stay out of this before you get yourselves killed.”

“What?” Shawn scoffs. “But this is the coolest case we've ever had! We can't just drop it!”

“Speak for yourself, Shawn,” Gus says. “I am more than happy to let them handle this.”

“But what if we can help?” 

“Trust me, Shawn, you can't help with this one,” Sam says. 

“Just because I'm not psychic doesn't mean I'm not a good detective,” Shawn says. 

“I'm sure you are,” Dean says. “But we're dealing with things you couldn't even imagine.”

“Yeah? Like what?” 

“We don't know yet,” Sam says. “That's part of the problem.”

“Then let me help,” Shawn insists. 

“Dammit, Shawn, get out of the car!” Dean snaps. 

“Fine,” Shawn says “Gus and I will work the case by ourselves.”

“Nope, I'm definitely listening to the guys with the gun on this one,” Gus says. 

“Okay, then  _ I'll _ work the case myself,” Shawn says. “And none of you get to share my mostly-melted candy.” He pulls a chocolate bar from his pocket. 

“Dude, how many of those did you take?” Gus asks. 

“Not enough for him to notice,” Shawn replies. 

“Wait, where did you get those?” Sam asks. 

“White’s sub,” Shawn says. “The guy's got stacks and stacks of them.”

“Dean, I know what we're up against,” Sam says. 

“What, some candy-loving freak?” Dean asks sarcastically. 

Sam just looks at him. 

“Son of a bitch, I know what we're dealing with,” Dean says. 

“What?” Shawn asks. “What are we dealing with?”

“Something that's definitely above your pay grade,” Dean says. 

“Everything I do is above my pay grade,” Shawn says. “I'm used to it.”

“Shawn, get out of the car,” Sam says. 

“I’m not getting out of this car until you tell me what's going on,” Shawn says. “You almost killed me. Gus would have been devastated. I'm the only light in his life. I think you owe us this much.”

Sam and Dean share a look, and finally, Sam says, “Fine.”

Dean scoffs. “Sam!”

“It's getting late,” Sam continues, ignoring his brother. “No one is going to be at the school, so we have to wait until tomorrow anyway. If you really want to know what's going on, follow us. We can talk at our place.”

“No way,” Gus says immediately. “I'm not going anywhere with you guys.”

“Then don't,” Sam says. “Go home, forget you ever saw us, and we'll take care of this on our own.”

“Can I ride in the car?” Shawn asks, hopeful like a child. 

“Shawn, you can't ride in a serial killer's car!” Gus hisses. 

“If it makes you feel better, he's actually not a serial killer,” Sam says. “Or a bank robber.”

“What about the grave desecration?” Shawn asks. 

“That one's complicated,” Dean says. 

“Okay, that might be creepier than being a robber  _ or _ a murderer,” Shawn says. 

“Yeah, so let's get out of here,” Gus hisses. 

“Gus, come  _ on _ ,” Shawn whines. “Don't you want to know what's going on?”

“Not as much as I want to live,” Gus says. 

“You have ten seconds to make up your mind,” Dean says. “After that, I'm just driving away.”

Gus looks between the Winchesters and his friend a few times. “You know what? You go ahead, Shawn. I'm going home.”

Once Gus is out of the car, Dean drives away. Shawn rolls down his window and sticks his head out, yelling to Gus, “If you don't hear from me tomorrow, tell Jules!”

“Hey, speaking of Juliet,” Dean says, glancing at him in the rearview mirror. “She single?”

“Unfortunately,” Shawn says. 

“Sounds like someone's been friend zoned,” Dean says teasingly. 

“Anyway,” Shawn says, changing the subject, “what are we up against?”

“We'll tell you when we get to the motel,” Sam says. 

“Why?”

“Because,” Dean says, “when you decide you've had enough, I don't want you to jump out of a moving car.”

###

“Man, this place sucks,” Shawn says, looking around the motel. 

“Eh, we've had worse,” Dean says. “So, you really want to know what's going on?”

“Obviously,” Shawn says. 

“We're dealing with a trickster,” Dean says. 

“Is this still about the psychic thing?” Shawn asks. 

“No, not you,” Sam says. “A trickster's basically a demigod. They get their kicks by messing with people they don't like. Deadly pranks, things like that.”

“Michael White fits the pattern, especially if the sexual misconduct allegations are true,” Dean says. “And apple tree in the stomach definitely sounds like their type of thing.”

“And they've got a bit of a sweet tooth,” Sam adds. “So if you're right about the candy, I think we've found our culprit.”

“You lost me,” Shawn says. 

“Where?” Dean asks. 

“All of it.”

Sam chuckles. “Yeah, it would probably help if we started at the beginning. My name's Sam Winchester, and that's my brother, Dean. We're not FBI, we're hunters.”

“Okay, and I'm not a psychic, I'm a serial movie-watcher,” Shawn says. “What do those have to do with anything? Or each other, for that matter?”

“No, not like that,” Dean says. “We hunt monsters.”

“Ditto,” Shawn replies. “Perks of working with the SBPD.”

“No, like, real monsters,” Sam says. “Vampires, werewolves, demons.”

Shawn looks at him for a moment, then asks, “Are you sure you're not still playing with me about the psychic thing?”

“We're not,” Dean says. “This is the real deal.”

Shawn nods slowly. “Right, um, well, I think I'm just gonna go.”

“Go for it,” Sam says. “We told you you'd want to leave.”

“At least you're not barrel rolling out of the car,” Dean adds. 

Shawn looks between them, then says, “You know, I might as well hear the rest of it. No point in coming out here just to leave immediately, right?” He's more interested just because he doesn't want to prove them right, but they don't have to know that.

“All right, but if you want to leave, you're more than welcome to,” Sam says. 

“Let's skip to the murders,” Dean says. “I don't kill any of them. It was a shapeshifter pretending to be me.”

“Uh huh…” Shawn props his head up in his hands. “Okay, I'll pretend I buy it.”

“And the bank robbery? Same deal,” Sam adds. “Some guy locked us in there to find a shifter. We didn't know who the shifter was, so we couldn't let anyone in or out. Dean had to take the fall.”

“Right…”

“The grave desecration thing is real, though,” Dean says. “Only way to get rid of a ghost is to burn the remains. Requires a lot of grave digging.”

“I’m starting to get the feeling you don't want me to stay here and listen,” Shawn says. 

“Honestly, man, I couldn't care less whether you stay or go,” Dean says. “I don't even care if you believe what you hear.”

“Then keep going,” Shawn says. “I'm getting a really good idea for a tv show right now.”

“That brings us back to the trickster,” Sam says. “They're basically demigods. They punish bad people, usually with a sense of humor. Like, turning-a-science-teacher- into-a-Schrodinger's-cat-experiment sense of humor.”

“Sounds like a fun guy,” Shawn says. 

“Well, the last one we met was,” Dean says. “Until we tried to kill him and almost got destroyed by a couple ladies in bikinis and a monster with a chainsaw.”

“You  _ what _ ?” Shawn doubles over in laughter. “Where do you come up with this stuff?”

“Real world experiences,” Dean replies. 

“Yeah, right,” Shawn says sarcastically. “I'm not an idiot. I know you're lying.”

“You're more than welcome to think that,” Dean says. “You're not hunting the thing with us either way.”

“What? Why not?” 

“Well, first of all, you don't believe in it,” Sam says. “Might get in the way.”

“Well, of course I don't believe in some magic prankster,” Shawn says. “I believe what I can see. It's how I was raised. But if you know who actually killed them, I'm coming with you, and you're not going to change my mind.”

“No, Shawn, you're not,” Sam says. “Because I actually kind of like you, and I think Dean does too, even if he won't admit it. You're doing good work here. I'm not about to get you killed just because we fell for your fake psychic gig.”

“Then why did you tell me all this?” Shawn asks.

“Because you were right,” Dean says. “We almost killed you, and you deserved an explanation.”

“Now leave this case to us,” Sam says. “We know what we're doing.”

###

Shawn stays at the Winchesters’ motel for a while after that, mostly telling them about his favorite cases he's solved. It's an hour after they arrived that there's a knock on the door. 

Dean grabs his gun, then gestures for Shawn to stay back. He slowly walks over to the door and looks through the peephole, his finger already on the trigger. With a sigh, he steps back and opens it, dropping his gun to his side. 

“Gus!” Shawn waves at him. “Hey, come on in! I was just telling them about the spelling bee case!”

Gus scoffs. “That's what's been taking you so long?”

“What?”

“Shawn, I've been sitting out there this whole time, making sure these two didn't murder you. I thought you were dead! And you've just been telling them stories this whole time?”

“Oh, come on, Gus, you gotta stop worrying so much,” Shawn says. 

“Really, you think I should have just ignored the fact that you went off with actual known serial killers by yourself?”

“Well, when you say it like that.”

“Shawn, you should probably go home,” Sam says. 

“But I never finished my story!” Shawn protests. 

“Yeah, I want to know who was killing them!” Dean says. 

Sam rolls his eyes. “Google it. I'm sure someone wrote about it somewhere. But I really think it's time for Shawn to go.”

Dean sighs. “Fine. Bye, Shawn. Thanks for making things interesting.”

“Thanks for not shooting me,” Shawn replies. 

“Great, glad that's done,” Gus says. “Shawn, come on.”

Shawn follows his friend out of the motel, shouting over his shoulder, “See you later!”

“Don't count on it!” Sam shouts back. 

As soon as they're in the Blueberry, Gus says, “Shawn, what the hell were you thinking?”

“Honestly, I do not know,” Shawn replies. “You're right, though. They're absolutely nuts.”

“Well, what did they say?” Gus asks. 

“Something like they hunt monsters and the murderer is a demigod,” Shawn says.

“Sounds like a good idea for a tv show,” Gus remarks. 

“That's what I said!” 

“Well, whatever they're doing, I'm glad it's over with,” Gus says. 

“Yeah, no, not quite,” Shawn says. 

“What?”

“I just want to check out Travers one more time,” Shawn says. “Just to make sure.”

“Just to make sure what?” Gus asks. “You heard him. He never even met the old teacher.”

“Yeah, no, I know,” Shawn says. “I just… I have to check.”

“Is this because of something the crazy guys said?” Gus asks. “You should know better than to trust crazy guys. It never ends well.”

“Honestly, it usually end about as well as trusting not-crazy guys,” Shawn says. “Look, it'll only take a few minutes, first thing tomorrow morning, before the school even opens. Please?”

Gus hesitates, then sighs. “Fine, but that's the last thing I'm doing for you for this case. After that, you're on your own.”

“I'm thinking, if it doesn't pan out — and it won't — I think I'll leave the case with Jules and Lassiter,” Shawn says. 

Gus scoffs. “Oh,  _ now _ you want to drop the case. You couldn't have thought of this  _ before _ you almost got us both shot?”

“I had a plan,” Shawn says defensively.

“Yeah, and what was that?” Gus asks. 

“To wing it. Works every time.”

###

Shawn knocks on Traver's classroom door. The teacher opens it almost immediately, raising an eyebrow when he sees who it is.

“Hey, you two again,” Travers says. “Come on in.”

Travers steps back, giving Shawn and Gus space to step inside before closing the door again. Shawn looks around, but there's no candy in sight. Well, already, it's starting to look like the Winchesters were definitely wrong.

“What can I do for you?” Travers asks. “Here to talk to my students again?”

“No, actually, we're here to talk to you,” Shawn says. “Quick, not-at-all related question. Where'd all your chocolate go?”

Travers pats his stomach. “Right here.”

“All of it?” Shawn asks skeptically. “That had to be at least 50 chocolate bars. That can't be healthy.”

Travers shrugs. “If chocolate's what kills me, so be it.”

Shawn chuckles awkwardly. “Right. Hey, you don't happen to be, say, a demigod, do you?”

Travers laughs, so Shawn laughs too, pretending his question was a joke. Gus does the same, justso he's not left out. 

After a few seconds, Travers says, “No, Shawn, I'm not a demigod.”

“Yeah, no, I didn't think so,” Shawn says. 

“I usually consider myself a Norse god instead.”

They both stop laughing immediately, gaping at him. 

“That's… that's a joke, right?” Gus asks. 

“Not at all,” he says. “I see you've talked to the Winchesters. I was wondering how long that would take.”

“So they were right?” Shawn asks. “You  _ are _ a trickster?”

The trickster nods. “In the flesh.”

“Uh, Shawn, you wanna maybe explain?” Gus asks. 

“It looks like the crazy guys aren't as crazy as we thought,” Shawn says. “You're not going to have girls in bikinis beat us up, right?”

The trickster laughs. “Oh, man, that was great. No, that was just a peace offering gone wrong. You two, on the other hand, don't pose any type of threat. You want to sit down?” The trickster flicks his hand, and two beanbag chairs appear out nowhere.

“Woah, how did you do that?” Shawn asks, gaping at him. 

He shrugs. “I  _ am _ the trickster.”

“So, if I sit down on one, would it disappear?” Shawn asks. 

“Depends on whether you annoy me before you do,” the trickster replies. 

Shawn looks down at the beanbag chair for a moment, then says, “Worth it.”

He jumps up, expecting to land on the beanbag, but at the last second, it turns into a trampoline, and Shawn bounces so high, he almost hits the ceiling.

“Woah, Gus, look at me!” Shawn shouts, still bouncing, albeit a bit lower every time.

“Whoop, guys, careful,” the trickster says. “I'll have to cut this short if one of the other teachers comes to check on us.”

“Yeah, Gus, watch it,” Shawn says. 

“I didn't even say anything!” Gus says. 

The trickster groans. “I swear, it's like you want me to ruin your fun. Shawn, lower your voice or I'll melt your mouth shut.”

“Is that an exaggeration, or…?”

“Do you  _ think _ it's an exaggeration?” the trickster asks. 

“Yes?” Shawn says hopefully. 

“One more guess.”

“Okay, I'll shut up,” Shawn says quickly. 

“Good choice,” the trickster says. 

“Shawn, are you just going to accept that this is really happening?” Gus asks. 

Shawn shrugs. “I believe what I can see. I can see all this. So either this is happening, or, more likely, it's a dream and I'm waking up soon anyway, so I might as well enjoy it.” 

“You're taking this so much better than most people,” the trickster says. “I knew there was a reason I liked you.”

“Everyone likes me,” Shawn says. “I don't know if it's the hair or the charming personality.”

“Probably the fact that you're not trying to kill me,” the trickster says. “It's an interesting change.”

“Yeah, I should probably call Lassie to take you to the station,” Shawn says. “But I'm pretty sure you would turn the car into a pinecone or something.”

“Shawn, they wouldn't even get me to the door,” the trickster says. “They wouldn't know what they're dealing with. No one does.”

“If you're so powerful, why are you sitting here?” Shawn asks. 

“I'm waiting for the Winchesters,” the trickster says. “And, speak of the devil, there they are.”

The trickster flicks his wrist and the door opens, just as Dean is about to kick it down. He stumbles, but quickly regains his balance. Behind him, Sam's grip on his wooden stake tightens.

“Sam, Dean, so good to see you again,” the trickster says with an exaggerated smile. 

“I thought we killed you,” Sam says, cocking his head to the side. 

“Don't worry, no hard feelings,” the trickster says. “I'm over it.”

“Good,” Dean says. “Then you won't mind if we do it again.”

“Hey, no need for violence,” the trickster says. “Here, take a seat.” 

With the flick of his hand, two chairs appear behind them, barreling forward and forcing them to sit. They both try to stand up, but they can't. 

“Hey, guys, I take it back,” Shawn says. “Definitely a trickster.”

“Were you in on this?” Dean asks, glaring.

“No, we just got here sooner than you,” Shawn replies.

“And I think by that logic, we should be able to leave earlier than you,” Gus says. “All right, Shawn, time to go.”

“No, I really wanna know how this plays out,” Shawn says. 

“What do you want?” Sam asks the trickster through gritted teeth. 

“A peace treaty,” he says. “I'll let you go right now, free pass out of the city.”

“If we leave you alone,” Sam finishes. “Sorry, but we're not exactly in the business of letting monsters walk free.”

“And that's the problem,” the trickster says. “You and me? We’re not all that different. We want the same thing. You kill bad things, I kill bad things.”

“You kill  _ people _ ,” Dean says. “There's a difference.”

“And sometimes, people are the real monsters,” the trickster says. “Someone's gotta take care of them.”

Sam shakes his head. “Sorry, man. Not gonna happen.”

“All right, let me try it this way.” The trickster holds out his hand, and Sam's stake flies into it. “You’re going to let me go, or…” He snaps the stake in half and drops it in the floor. “I'll kill Dean right now, and he'll head straight to hell. And I happen to know they have something  _ very special _ planned for him down there. Trust me, I think you want to put that off as long as possible.”

Shawn nudges Gus and mouths, “ _ What the hell? _ ”

“ _ I don't know, _ ” Gus mouths back. 

“If you lay a hand on him, I will spend the rest of my life tracking you down,” Sam growls.

“And I'll spend the rest of your life playing tricks on you whenever you get close,” the trickster says. “You think messing with your laptop was bad? You're in for a hell of a surprise.”

Sam and Dean share a look. Dean nods once, barely visible, and Sam nods back. 

“Fine,” Dean says. “We'll back off.”

“Good idea,” the trickster says. With a flick of his hand, Sam and Dean are able to stand up. “I'm sure we'll meet again, but hopefully not for a long, long time.”

“Lay low and we'll make sure of it,” Dean says. 

The trickster flicks his hand, and Sam and Dean disappear. Shawn and Gus stare at the spot they used to stand in, awed. The trickster just crosses his arms with a smirk. 

The first to speak, Shawn asks, “Where did they go?”

“Just out to their car,” the trickster says. “If they come back, I'll probably just poof out of here. I love the guys — in a weird, not-very-loving sorry of way — but man, are they a handful.”

“Do I want to know what you guys were talking about?” Shawn asks.

“Probably not,” the trickster says. “I already know there's no saving them. Might as well try to save my ass.”

“How can they even kill you?” Shawn asks. “You're literally a god. Can't you just Sonic speedrun away from them?”

“It's not them I'm worried about,” the trickster says. 

“Then who?” 

The trickster shakes his head. “Story for another time.”

“There's not going to be another time,” Gus says. 

“Probably not with you,” the trickster agrees. “But Shawn, maybe.”

“Really?” Shawn grins, bouncing up and down.

The trickster nods. “I like you. You're something different.”

“Yeah, I —” Shawn pauses, the smile slipping from his face. “Actually, no, I don't think so.”

“Really?” the trickster says in surprise. 

Shawn nods. “Yeah, you know, I don't think it's gonna work out. Don't get me wrong, you're by far the coolest person I have ever met. Like, really, you are. But I think this whole magic thing is a little too crazy for me.”

“Right, you should stick with the whole  _ fake _ magic thing instead,” the trickster says sarcastically.

“Yeah, actually, that's kind of the plan.”

The trickster frowns. “All right, well, of you're sure. I'll keep out of Santa Barbara, let you live your life. Good luck, Shawn and Gus.”

“Good luck with what?” Gus asks. 

“Pretending to be normal. It's a hell of a lot harder when you know about the supernatural.”


End file.
